The Blues, Brother
by shoetingstar
Summary: Dean has a new job on his plate when he gets a call from Sam about an old friend.


**The blues, brother.  
**

_I missed you, so much._

_ Did you, really?_

_ You're mad. You wonder why I left._

_ No, I'm wondering why you're back._

Her dark hair shimmered in the early morning sun. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "Can we get going here?" She demanded.

Dean glared at her in his distraction. "Just a sec."

Squaring his broad shoulders, he turned his back to her and then his attention to his phonecall.

"How's the case going?"

"Another woman in white – pretty routine. But that's not why I called," Sam said. "I got something to tell you."

"You got tickets to Oprah's last show?"

"No. And dude, how do you even know about that?" Sam joked. "But seriously, you'll never believe who I ran into."

Sam had been in Chicago for six months now. After he got his soul back they both agreed to take a break. From what exactly, was never detailed. They both just needed "different" for a while, some space.

"Cassie, Dean. I saw Cassie."

"Cassie? My Cas..." He stopped himself quick.

She wasn't his anything. Not anymore.

"What happened?" Dean continued reluctantly.

Not that he actually cared.

"I was at the Harold Washington Library. And there she was. I said hello. We talked for a while..."

"Sounds heartwarming," Dean said, coolly. "And I need to know this because...?"

"She looked good. Damn, good. She's..."

Dean sighed. He wanted a simple existence for one day. It had been a brutal few months, a brutal life, and he just needed to catch his breath. He should have known better. Entertaining such ideas never paid off for him, but there it was.

"Again, Sam. Why are you telling me this?"

"You gotta come here. We'll catch up," Sam took a deep breath. "There's stuff you need to know."

"What, are you getting the band back together? We already did the mission from God thing, Elwood. Count me out."

"Look, it's not my place, but I convinced her to talk to you."

"Is she in trouble?"

"Not exactly."

"Is she dying?"

"Not exactly."

What exactly did that mean? No, he didn't want to know. He couldn't go there again. He did not care.

"Let it go," Dean said, trying to plead without sounding like a little bitch. He ignored the drumbeating in his heart. "I did. A long time ago."

"Sure. It's not like you dream about her. All the time."

"Aren't you the one who wanted me to be with Lisa? Wasn't that you're dying wish Sammie?"

"I wanted you to be happy. That's my dying and living wish."

He had never dared to bring up Cassie's name or to show any indication of further interest in her. He had tried, again. He'd kept his word and she screened his calls, until finally she left a message that made things completely final. All of his intention was to be done with Cassie Robinson. Then the nightly mind-trips started.

_Lots of talking._

_ You're not a monster Dean._

_ How about we agree to disagree._

_ It's not up for discussion._

_ This, from you?_

_ Let it out. I can take it._

_ Let's talk about you, for once._

_ Or we could do other things._

_ Then he'd let her tackle him until words melted into passionate moans and joyful screams._

He couldn't shake how real they seemed. He woke up dazed, tasered by cold reality. The amount of elation they gave him, how happy he was with her, it was all he needed to know that they were not true or tangible.

"Well, happy and Winchester are like oil and water, they don't mix. Do they?" He hated being cold, but he needed Sam to stop whatever he was doing, whatever he was planning. "I gotta get back to work."

Dean's jaw clenched in irritation. Sam was talking nonsense and she was behind him, staring a hole into his back.

"You won't admit it. But I know you still think about her. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"I have to go."

"Dean – don't even think about it! Just come out here..."

"I'll call you later," Dean said quickly and hung up.

How did Sammy find out?

_ Vivid. Living color. The mahogany of luscious hair, the red of full lips, the pink of a perfect tongue, the cinnamon skin he knew every inch of but still craved. Her laughter, music. Her smile, joy. Her skin, cashmere soft. Her love, amber honeysuckle, honey-sweet. Dark, danger. Light, bearer. Alive inside. Inside, alive. Scents of a delirious, mad collision. _

Dean shook off the goosebumps. He had to get his head in the game. His new partner was waiting for him.

"So how's Sam? He and the soul still working out?"

"You doubting your boss' work?"

Tessa smiled tensely at Dean. "Never. You still haven't told him about your new career, have you?"

"Some privacy, please? We're co-workers. It doesn't mean we have to be BFF," Dean said and took a sip of his coffee. It was too early and he'd already been hit with too many revelations. "Speaking of work...Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Dean focused on the details of the simple and small blue house that stood before them. He looked down the walkway at the neighborhood. Most of them would be at work by now. If he went two streets down he would be at the home he once shared with Lisa and Ben. The dreams were constant until he got with Lisa.

Focus, Dean.

One of his old neighborhoods was about to meet his maker. Or, what have you. He was about to die, that Dean knew for sure.

"So what upstanding citizen's life am I taking today?" He said.

"Actually, I think you might enjoy this one."

"Lady, we got two very different definitions of enjoyment. You reapers are really warped," he teased.

"You like being the hero. This house belongs to David Joel Green. I'm sure the girl he tortured last night and left in his basement to die will really appreciate your work."

That had gotten his attention. Tessa was right, this was the kind of assignment he'd been wanting. Getting rid of some sick bastard. This trial period had been traumatic with him reaping the life of one decent person after another. People, sad about dying, sad to leave their loved ones, piled on the guilt and begged for more time.

"Let's do this."

In an instant, and with no fanfare, he and Tessa got important company. In his dark suit and wearing his version of a smile on his long, pale face, stood Death, holding a pink bakery box of donuts.

"The most important meal of the day, you know."

"Uh, thanks," Dean said with amusement. "But I'd rather carry on, if you don't mind."

Death shrugged. It was no skin off his teeth. "Suit yourself."

"May I ask why you're here, Sir?" Tessa asked, respectfully.

Death had never joined them on any jobs. Any messages or instructions came through Tessa.

"This is a particular assignment. This guy has alluded the human authorities for years."

"Normally, newbies don't get assigned these cases," Tessa huffed. "What is it with Winchesters?"

Just then a mail truck pulled up. A tall, shapely mail carrier stepped down from the truck, oblivious to their presence. She bobbed her ponytailed head to a iPod, a tiny bit of sweat beaded on her brown face from the sun. Dean's appreciative once-over was broken when he saw Tessa's disgusted look. She definitely knew nothing about enjoyment. The mail lady sauntered toward them, right through Death. She stopped in her tracks as a big shiver overcame her. Quickly depositing the junkmail into the mailbox, she hightailed it back to the truck.

Dean didn't think he'd ever get used to being invisible, though it was fun at times.

"You should consider Chicago," Death said to Dean.

What the hell, now Death was giving his two-cents about Chicago?

"Seriously?"

"It's my kind of town. Have you ever been to The Taste of Chicago? The Blues Festival? Great food. I'll give you the time off."

Dean wasn't ready to agree. They found the serial killer in the basement just about to torture his latest victim again.

They started again, when Lisa broke up with him.

_I missed you, so much._

_ Did you, really?_

_ You're mad. You wonder why I left._

_ No, I'm wondering why you're back._

_ If Muhammad won't come to the mountain. The mountain has to come to Muhammad._

_Okay, I'll play. It's just a dream anyway._

_ She got the funniest look on her face. More on that later, she said._

_ Do you dream about me?_

_ You have no idea, Dean. And, yes. I know, about everything._

_ There's no way._

_ And yet, I do. Your dad's death, Sam's powers...Your little visit to hell._

_ I – I don't know how I feel, anymore._

_ That's okay. We'll figure it out. _

_ I loved you, so much._

Dean figured he had nothing to lose. It was just a dream and he'd wake up soon enough. Everybody needs somebody to love. And maybe, he'd reconsider Chicago.

6


End file.
